The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

George looked up and saw a tall, middle-aged man in a military-style jacket standing by the table.

His face resembled that of the actor Spacey, whom George had seen in his previous life, but his complexion was somewhat pale, and there was a lingering weariness between his brows.

"Lieutenant Bates? What a coincidence." George was a little surprised to run into an acquaintance, and then gestured for the other man to sit down.

"Please sit down. Have you had lunch yet?"

John Bates, a former colonial officer, suffered from severe nightmares and heart palpitations.

He had a chance encounter with George, who was looking to train, at a fight club, and the latter gave him some advice on how to manage his stress.

This seemed to help alleviate his symptoms somewhat, and the two became acquainted. George also learned self-defense techniques from him.

Bates thanked him, sat down, and ordered a whiskey.

"I don't have much of an appetite. I just went to the club to work as a sparring partner for a while, so I came out to get some fresh air."

His gaze swept over Oliver, who looked somewhat frightened beside George, but he didn't ask any further questions.

George, noticing his expression, spoke up: "You don't look well. Are you in trouble?"

Bates nodded: "It is indeed a bit troubling, well, mainly about those dreams."

George pondered for a moment and thought that Bates might be someone who could test some of his ideas.

He lowered his voice and asked indirectly:

"Are you still using that method I mentioned last time? Writing down those vivid nightmare images and then burning them?"

Bates paused, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes.

"They're still using it. To be honest, this method sounds a bit... superstitious."

He took a swig of whiskey, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"But at least it lets me sleep for a while, although I still can't help but see those dense forests and shadows."

George's heart skipped a beat.

Write it down, burn it... Although this suggestion comes from past life cognitive therapy, it seems to coincide with the prototype of a certain "ritual".

A way to visualize abstract fears and dispel or purify them through "flames" (burning).

This subtly echoed the vague description of the "candle" principle beneath the surface of the world that he had just read in "Night Wanderings".

"It's good that it works." George nodded, carefully choosing his words.

"Perhaps... those troubling images are not simply a matter of traumatic memories. There may be some external factors at play."

Bates's wandering gaze immediately fell on George.

"External factors? You mean voodoo? Or what the Brahmins call 'possession of evil thoughts'?"

"No, not that kind." George shook his head, realizing he couldn't say too much.

"It's just speculation. Perhaps there are forces or environments that we don't yet understand that can influence the mind."

"My method may have inadvertently touched upon some unclear principle that counteracts it; this is just a conjecture."

He deliberately spoke vaguely.

Bates was silent for a moment, seemingly processing what he had said.

Then, staring at the amber liquid in the glass, he slowly said:

"On the continents of Bharata and Lysobia, I have seen some things that science cannot explain; some tribal priests can indeed come up with strange things..."

"If your guess is true, then this world is more dangerous than a battlefield." He took another big gulp of his drink. "At least the bullets are visible."

The lieutenant seemed somewhat skeptical.

George, knowing when to stop, changed the subject: "By the way, Lieutenant, you've come at the perfect time."

He briefly recounted what he and Oliver had experienced that morning.

Finally, he said, "I gave Oliver a good meal, but he still needs a way to make a living so that he can stay away from crime and walk the right path."

"If you have connections to find him a suitable job, I'm willing to cover the guarantee fees."

After hearing George's plan, Bates shrugged.

"I should be able to help this gentleman—"

He looked at Oliver, who had remained silent until he heard George's request and then showed a hopeful expression.

"If you're willing to pay a small fee to vouch for him, he should be able to get a job as a shop assistant."

But Bates changed the subject:

"Doctor, this kind of thing is as common in this day and age as birds in the forest. Your good deeds probably won't be enough to kill them all."

George laughed: "Lieutenant, I never actively seek out opportunities to do good, but if it comes to me, I won't turn my back."

"A very pragmatic viewpoint, so I won't say any more." Bates raised his glass in a toast, took a big gulp, and then turned to Oliver.

"Hey kid, your name's Oliver, right?"

Oliver nodded vigorously.

"I think you'll remember this good luck for the rest of your life. Why not take this opportunity to thank this kind doctor?"

Oliver then expressed a long string of thanks to George—George stopped him just as he was about to repeat himself.

"Lieutenant, this little guy's future is in your hands." With that, he handed over two one-pound notes.

Bates took the money, nodded, and looked at Oliver.

"Alright, Oliver, come with me to wash up, and then I'll get you a new set of clothes—the doctor was right."

Watching Bates lead a beaming Oliver away, George sat alone for a while before settling his bill and leaving as well.

He had at least solved a minor problem at hand, which allowed him to lift his spirits and face the vast and bizarre unknown.

As night approached, he returned to his lodgings and eagerly opened "Night Wanderings" again, reading it even more carefully.

Especially the obscure chapters about how to initially sense and come into contact with the "Dream Realm".

As night deepened, the light from the kerosene lamp danced on the pages of the book.

George closed the book, feeling exhausted but unusually excited.

The world in the book is bizarre and strangely alluring, as if revealing to him a more real yet more dangerous dimension hidden beneath the surface of daily life.

He lay down on the bed, closed his eyes, and tried to relax his mind and concentrate by following the vague guidance and imagery in the book.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but in a hazy, drowsy state, he once again felt that familiar sense of detachment.

Deep within my consciousness, a heavy, long table came to mind.

A card is currently floating on the table, its design being a miniature version of the book's cover.

There are also several clear lines of light and shadow nearby:

【Night Wanderings, Volume One】

[Sexual aspect: Books]

This book records the observations of a cultivator who had just entered the realm of the extraordinary, and what he saw beneath the surface of the world. The writing is exquisite and engaging, but the knowledge it contains is shrouded in mystery.

George focused his mind on the {Use} that appeared next to the card.

He pressed it down.

In an instant, the card turned into specks of light and vanished, revealing a large passage of text.

"Maps exist in the world, legends exist, maps contain legends, and legends exist about maps. The dream realm exists within all of these, just as water exists in swamps, cups, and the sky."

[In his book, Eliopoli describes how he repeatedly visits the surface of the world through what he calls strange dreams.]

"Confident knowledge, unwavering attitude, and yearning allow us to transcend the boundaries of the material world," he explained, "like a fantasy falling in love. But I have indeed found a helpful secret."

Two brand-new cards then coalesced.